


If You'll Have Me

by snuckybarnes



Series: Sick Leave [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (it's not mentioned but it's not like he suddenly stopped being trans either so), Breakfast, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Sleep Deprivation, Sleepovers, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:40:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22991119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snuckybarnes/pseuds/snuckybarnes
Summary: Jon is so very tired. Martin doesn't really mind.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: Sick Leave [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1637413
Comments: 61
Kudos: 572





	If You'll Have Me

**Author's Note:**

> The final part of this series. It took me a while longer to get out, but here it is! Thanks to everyone who's read the previous parts and dropped kudos and comments, those mean a lot! And of course, thanks to elliot for the excellent encouragement!

It’s been a long day. A long week and, if Jon is to be completely honest, a long few years. He’s exhausted.

He tried, at some point, to count how many hours he’s been sleeping these last couple of days, but trying to recall that turned out to be too much of an effort and he almost fell asleep at his desk. Still, he’s adamant that his exhaustion isn’t going to keep him from going over to Martin’s place, not when he hasn’t been able to visit for several days.

It takes him a bit longer than it should to get there, since he manages to nod off on the tube, misses his stop and has to go back, but eventually he’s standing outside Martin’s flat. He must have pushed the doorbell too, because soon the door opens and he is pulled into a brief hug. That’s something they do now, hug when Jon shows up (and sometimes before he leaves too). Jon isn’t really sure when that started to become a thing, but he likes it, much to his own surprise. Martin is always so warm. And soft.

And talking, which Jon sluggishly processes.

“—okay? Jon?” Martin asks, his hands on Jon’s shoulders and trying to catch his attention.

Jon blinks. “Mhm.”

“When was the last time you slept?” Martin’s voice is all concerned and gentle, and Jon would like to lean into it.

“Recently enough,” he says instead, biting the inside of his cheek in an attempt to get the pain to wake him up. Given his little nap on the tube, it’s not entirely untrue.

Martin sighs and shakes his head, however, apparently not convinced. “Just come inside. Would you like tea right away? And don’t you dare try to ask for coffee.”

Jon is ushered inside, Martin’s hands falling away as he goes to close the door. Tea would be lovely, he thinks, but he also isn’t sure that he would be able to hold a cup without dropping it. Spilling hot tea all over himself would probably serve to wake him up a bit, but he really doubts that Martin would approve of that reasoning, so he just shakes his head. “Maybe later? We could… Could we watch another episode of that documentary first? I keep wondering what’s going on with those fishes.”

“You’re assuming I haven’t been watching it without you. I’m holed up here all day long, you know,” Martin says, but goes to turn on the TV anyway.

“Oh,” Jon lets out, unable to fully keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Well, we could watch something else—”

“I’m just teasing you, Jon,” Martin says, and now Jon hears his light tone and the smile in his voice.

“Oh,” Jon says again, this time relieved. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had though.”

“We’re watching it together,” Martin tells him, as if that’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Now don’t just stand there, come on.”

Jon realises he still hasn’t really moved from the front door, and that Martin has already sat down in the sofa. He somehow gets his shoes off without falling over and goes to sit down next to Martin, pulling his knees up to his chest, as Martin presses play.

  
  


Something warm and soft is pressed against his cheek and Jon presses back. He turns his nose into the softness too, and holds tighter to what his arms are wrapped around. It’s nice. Safe.

It takes him another moment or so to get his eyes open, the room around him slowly coming into focus. He shifts a bit where he sits, frowning as the sofa shifts too. No, not the sofa.

“Martin?”

Martin, whose arm Jon is clinging onto and pressing his face into. Who he has obviously fallen asleep next to and who shifts again at the sound of his name.

Jon reluctantly moves his face away from Martin’s arm and tilts it back, searching for his gaze in the dimly lit room.

Martin’s eyes widen and he shifts again, managing a bit better now that Jon has loosened his death grip on his arm somewhat. “Oh, sorry, I— I didn’t realise you were awake. This time.”

“What do you mean?” Jon asks, reaching to correct his glasses only to find that they’re not there.

Martin leans forward, picking the glasses up from the coffee table. “Yeah, you’ve been mumbling in your sleep a bit. Sorry about your glasses, but they didn’t look very comfortable so I took them off.”

Jon accepts said glasses, putting them back on. “No, no, thank you.” He makes a face. “I ah… I hope I didn’t say anything too strange.”

Martin glances away, biting back a smile. “Mainly just some nonsense about tape recorders. And some critique about how I file statements.”

Jon winces again, clearing his throat. “Ah. I… Sorry about that. And for falling asleep in general.”

“Don’t be,” Martin assures, his usual gentle smile on his lips. “You really needed it.”

Jon makes a face. “Still.” It’s then that he realises he still hasn’t really let go of Martin’s arm. Clearing his throat, he does let go, and shuffles back a bit on the sofa. His face feels hot. “I, ah— Sorry. About...that too. I didn’t mean to.”

Martin’s smile seems to fade a bit, though Jon can’t really understand why. “It’s okay, Jon,” he says. Then he stands, and like the sweetheart he is, he offers: “How about I make us some tea now?”

The tension drains from Jon’s body once again. “That sounds lovely, Martin.”

  
  


There’s a cup of tea on the table in front of him, though Jon knows it’s not warm anymore. He’s lying down, curled up with his head on the armrest of the sofa (it’s not as soft as Martin). His glasses have been removed again, and there’s something warm draped over him.

He can’t stifle his yawn as he sits up, looking around to find Martin sitting at the other end of the sofa, knees pulled up to his chest with a notebook balanced on them. He’s writing or drawing something in it. Probably writing.

“I really didn’t mean to fall asleep again,” Jon tells him, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself. It smells like Martin.

Martin looks up from his book, smiling again. “I know. It’s okay Jon, really. You went out like a light before I could even put the kettle on.”

“I feel like awful company.”

“You’re not,” Martin assures, looking down at his notebook and fiddling with the corner of the page. “It’s nice to just have you around, really.”

Jon doesn’t know what to say to that, so he keeps quiet. There’s no sunlight coming through the window anymore, he notices as he puts his glasses on once again, and he looks around before remembering Martin doesn’t have a wall clock. “What time is it?”

Martin reaches into his pocket, checking his phone. “Almost half eleven.”

Jon grimaces. “Guess I should be getting home then.”

Martin’s pencil taps against the paper. “Come on, Jon, don’t be ridiculous. You can stay.”

“But I have to catch the tube. We’ll have to— We’ll have to have tea another day instead—”

“What? No, no, I don’t mean ‘stay one more hour’, I mean ‘stay over’. You clearly have a lot of sleep to catch up on and I’d rather you do it here than get stuck on the end station of the last train. I’ll make up the sofa properly for you, or, or you can have the bed and I’ll have the sofa.” Martin’s face is a bit pink towards the end and he doesn’t look at Jon.

Jon, who hasn’t just “stayed over” at anyone’s place since university, save for his time laying low at Georgie’s. It’s tempting. He’s still tired, and Martin’s sofa is comfortable enough. Most importantly it feels safe to be around Martin. Jon sighs. “I’m not throwing you out of your own bed. But I’ll be glad to take the sofa, if you’re serious.”

“Really, Jon— Wait? You’re agreeing? I thought you’d fuss.”

Jon looks down at his hands. “I can make sensible decisions once in a while too, you know.”

“I know, I know, I just—” Martin stops himself, lets out a brief chuckle. “Okay. Okay.”

Looking up again, Jon sees that Martin is still blushing, but the smile is back too, attention having returned to something in his notebook. His pencil scratches against the page.

“Poetry?” Jon asks, making sure there’s no compulsion in his voice.

Martin’s pencil goes very still either way. “Maybe.”

“What’s it about? A man so sleep-deprived you can’t trust him to make it home on his own?”

“Not everything is about you, Jon,” Martin tells him, but he’s still blushing.

“Yes, I know. I wasn’t serious,” Jon assures. “Though… I would like to read it sometime. Your poetry. It doesn’t have to be what you’re writing now, just...whatever you would be comfortable to show me. If anything.”

Martin is silent for a moment. “Really? I mean, I— I could pick out some of the better ones, if you, if you really want to. Are you sure?”

Jon smiles, and hope it looks as honest and gentle as he wants it to. “I’m sure.”

Martin just blinks at him. “Right! Well, I’ll— I’ll think about which ones, ah—” He clears his throat then, and stands. “I’d better go find some sheets. For the sofa. You can use the bathroom if you’d like, there are some spare toothbrushes under the sink. And I will...find some clothes you can borrow. Also. To sleep in. If you want that.”

Martin is rather lovely when he’s flustered, Jon thinks, though he can’t really see what Martin would have to be flustered about. It’s not as if Jon’s anything special.

(He knows, of course. Knows what the others are saying behind both of their backs about how Martin supposedly feels. But it just seems so improbable, ridiculous and downright _strange_ that someone like Martin would feel like that about someone like Jon. That they’re friends is a feat in its own and it’s only a matter of time before Martin understands that he is way too good for Jon.)

“Thank you, Martin,” Jon says, smiling still.

He reluctantly gets out from under the blanket and stands up, stretching as he does so in a vain attempt to loosen his stiff muscles. A couple of joints give off a satisfying pop, but that’s all he really gets.

There is indeed a pack of toothbrushes under the bathroom sink, with two missing and three still left. Jon picks the orange one, and has to force himself not to entertain the thought that he might use it again sometime. Sleepovers can be...a complicated topic.

He tries to look in the mirror as little as possible while he’s in the bathroom; just washes his face off and brushes his fingers through his tangled hair a bit. He already knows he looks like hell without needing to be reminded of it.

By the time he returns to the main room of the flat, there’s a sheet on the sofa and some new pillows and an extra blanket. Martin is standing next to it, with a soft looking beige jumper in his hands. When he hears the bathroom door open, his eyes come up to meet Jon’s. “I hope this’ll be okay. I, ah, I don’t have any trousers that are small enough to fit you, I don’t think, so I hope it’s alright with just a jumper?” he says, holding said garment out to Jon.

Jon takes it from him with a nod. “I’m sure it’s great. Thank you.”

Martin nods and exhales. “Okay. Okay. I’m gonna… Yeah.”

He disappears into the bathroom, and Jon takes the moment of privacy to change clothes. Martin’s jumper is big enough to reach halfway down his thighs and almost threatens to slip down one shoulder. It’s perfect.

By the time Martin returns — wearing a different cardigan and plaid pajama bottoms because _of course_ — Jon has made his way back onto the sofa, all settled down beneath the blanket. His glasses are back on the coffee table, though this time he’s removed them himself.

Martin’s flat really only has the one room, with only a secluded alcove for his bed rather than a separate bedroom. He makes his way around the space, turning off the lights until only the one next to his bed remains lit. Finally, the blurry shape of him settles down in the bed.

“You need anything else?” Martin asks after a moment.

“No, I’m good, thank you,” Jon assures, curling in on himself some more.

“Alright.” Apparently satisfied, Martin takes off his glasses and turns the light off.

There’s silence. Then some rustling of fabric as Martin gets comfortable. Then a breath as if to speak, but cut off before any words come out. Some more silence. Then another breath. “Night, Jon. Sleep well.”

Jon thinks he would, if he heard Martin say it like that, so soft and honest and matter-of-fact, every evening. The thought makes his chest ache a bit, though he feels warm all over and can’t help the smile on his lips. “Good night, Martin. You too.”

  
  


For the first time in a long time, Jon feels rested when he wakes up. A look at his phone tells him it’s only just before seven in the morning, but given how much he actually slept the previous evening it doesn’t feel all that early.

He stretches and sits up, reaching for his glasses. Across the room he can see Martin, the slow rise and fall of his silhouette beneath the covers accompanied by the gentle sounds of his breathing. He looks so young and peaceful, his mouth slightly open and his hair a mess of curls atop the pillow. Jon can’t help but simply watch him for a little while, a smile on his lips as he does so.

Eventually, however, Jon does get up from the couch in order to use the bathroom. Afterwards, when his feet take him to the kitchen area rather than back to the sofa, an idea begins to take shape in his head. Jon isn’t much of a breakfast person, but he can recall Martin on several occasions mentioning how it’s the “most important meal of the day”. And while Jon isn’t exactly a skilled chef, he knows his way around a kitchen well enough that making pancakes seems like the only logical conclusion.

He does his best to be as quiet about it as he can, but by the time he’s halfway through frying, it’s clear he’s been a little bit too loud.

“Jon?” Martin’s voice is soft and surprised, and when Jon turns around to see him standing by the fridge, he notices the wide eyes and the blush colouring his cheeks.

“Good morning. I didn’t mean to wake you just yet,” Jon greets.

Martin’s mouth opens and closes a few times, his gaze unsteady and his face going even more pink. “You— You’re making breakfast,” he finally says, his voice going up an octave.

“Yes, I— I hope that’s okay.” Uncertainty begins gnawing at Jon almost right away. What if Martin thinks this is a bit too much? “I mean, I know where everything is, and you always make tea for me so I thought it could be nice if I did something for once. But, ah, if I’ve overstepped—”

“No, no! You haven’t!” Martin assures. “It’s very...nice of you, Jon, I was just a bit surprised. I didn’t expect you to be all— Er.” He makes an incredibly vague gesture with his arm, then clears his throat. “Anyway, it—it smells good.”

“Right. Right, that’s good,” Jon says, grateful for having to turn back around to the stove to flip the pancakes.

Behind him, Martin begins to set the table. He seems conflicted about whether to stare at Jon or to look literally anywhere else, and the silence hangs in the air.

It’s only once Jon has fried the last of the pancakes and pulled the pan from the burner that he comes to a deeply embarrassing realisation: He’s still wearing the oversized jumper Martin lent him to sleep in, and hasn’t even come around to put on his trousers. The jumper is big enough that he’s hardly indecent, but _still_. All at once his face is warmer than the stove in front of him and he wishes the ground would just open up and swallow him. He retracts that wish almost as soon as he makes it, knowing that’s something that actually happens to people, but still wishes he wouldn’t have to face Martin just now.

Still not saying a word, Jon crosses the room, passing the kitchen table and heading for the sofa. His clothes are still folded up on one of the armrests and he pulls his trousers on as quick as he can. The fabric feels a bit off against his skin — when did he last wash these?

His face continues to burn as he returns to the kitchen area. Of course, Martin chooses that moment to finally break the silence, cornering him.

“Jon? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, Martin, everything’s fine,” he replies, a bit harsher than he means to, and waits for Martin to step aside so that he can get the pancakes.

Martin doesn’t move. “Look, I really do appreciate breakfast, I’m sorry if it seemed like I didn’t. I just...literally can’t remember the last time someone did that for me and I suppose I was a bit caught of guard.” He pauses to let out a small chuckle, doesn’t meet Jon’s eyes. “And now the last ten minutes I haven’t been able to think about anything other than the fact that if you were around like this every morning, I probably wouldn’t wish for anything else ever again.”

Jon’s heart is doing _something_ in his chest. “Martin—”

“I don’t know if you’re interested in that kind of thing with anyone, least of all with me, but if you are— It doesn’t have to be like that even, like this, or— Or— I just— I just want you _around_ in whatever way you’d be comfortable with. But now I’m making things _really weird_ and you—”

“ _Martin_ ,” Jon tries again, taking hold of Martin’s hands. He isn’t sure if it’s his voice or his touch that does it, but Martin does fall silent, staring at him with wide eyes and his breath shaking. “Martin, I— I can’t say I understand why, given that I am...the way I am. But if you’ll really have me, if you want me, I—” He laughs, brief and scared, but hopeful too. “Of course. Of course. Anything.”

Without much warning, Jon is pulled into a hug. Martin has one hand on his back, and one cradling his head, and Jon can only cling on. It ends too soon, but that’s okay, because Jon is met with one of the brightest smiles he’s ever seen. Martin’s hand stays in his hair, tucking a loose strand behind his ear. Jon can’t resist leaning into the touch.

“You can kiss me, if you want. I’d— I’d like that very much.” It takes Jon a moment to realise the words do in fact come from him. They’re soft and hopeful, and by some miracle don’t sound insecure.

Martin looks almost stunned. For a few, awful seconds, Jon worries that he has overstepped. That Martin doesn’t want him quite like that, and why did he have to bring it up when he would have been perfectly content with just—

And then it all washes away as Martin’s other hand comes up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing over Jon’s skin. His gaze flickers from Jon’s eyes to his lips and then to his eyes again, as he leans a little bit closer. Jon smiles in a way he hopes is encouraging, and then Martin is kissing him.

Their glasses clack together a bit and Jon’s heart is beating like a hammer in his chest, but it’s wonderful nonetheless. Jon can’t really figure out to do what his hands and Martin’s soft lips taste like honey lip balm.

When they finally part, Martin doesn’t move far away, choosing instead to stand with his forehead pressed against Jon’s. It must be uncomfortable for him to bend his neck like that, but Jon is a bit too selfish to do anything about it.

“Was that okay?” Martin asks, his voice gentle and so very _Martin_.

“More than,” Jon assures, still not opening his eyes. His hands have found their way to Martin’s waist, settling there.

“Good,” Martin says with a small chuckle, his breath ghosting over Jon’s lips. “It’s, ah, it’s been a while since I…”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Martin keeps brushing his thumb across Jon’s cheek. It’s very distracting.

“What happens now?” Jon finally asks.

He can feel Martin shrug. “Dunno, really. I’d like to kiss you again, and I suppose we should talk? About this, about us?”

“That sounds reasonable,” Jon agrees.

“Yeah? And there’s breakfast too.”

Jon can’t help the small laugh that escapes him. “Yeah. There is.”

They stand there for a while longer, and Jon thinks that if this moment would last forever, he would be perfectly happy indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, please let me know! <3


End file.
